


Ten times greater

by hatebeat



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: M/M, Snakes N' Barrels, the 80s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 12:06:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2150124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatebeat/pseuds/hatebeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the 80s. Who cares?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten times greater

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nursehelena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nursehelena/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Britt!

The pink neon glow flashed into the mouth of the alleyway from the bar across the street, like nowhere was safe from the night out here. Everything was all too fuckin' glamorous and there was nowhere to fuckin' hide from it. Pickles was lit as shit, done a little bit of the harder shit when he'd intended to just have a couple shots of whiskey and maybe a few beers after their set. He came outside to have a cigarette try to kick him back to his senses, but the one guy from Super Destroyer Fuck Machine who'd played the night's first set had followed him out back, tugged at his belt loop, pushed Pickles back, got his teeth on that hot spot right underneath Pickles' ear that led to him getting Pickles' belt unbuckled and the skintight jeans peeled down his thighs, albeit with some difficulty. Too tight, too fuckin' sweaty from the bright lights.

The guy- Frankie, or whatever the hell his name was- started to palm at his cock, but Pickles was too high and ready to go to be fuckin' around about it. 

"Do it," Pickles muttered, pushing down on the guy's shoulder-- just a suggestion, really, but Frankie sank to his knees and proved that his throat was good for something other than belting out them high notes on stage. 

It was kind of a risk out there where anyone could see, but fuck it all. Wasn't like it was shit they'd never seen before. He'd seen it all out here; LA meant _freedom_ and Pickles could do whatever the fuck he wanted to do. That guy's long blonde hair made a great handle for him to grab onto and ride out his orgasm, and it wasn't until after he came that he realised he'd scraped up the backs of his shoulders on the jagged brick behind him.

Panting and a million times sweatier than he'd been before he stepped out into the cool air of the night, he strode back into the sleazy club, the top button of his jeans still unbuttoned, and his belt? Forget about it. He wasn't fucking around with that right now. The air was thick with smoke and sex and rock and it choked him as he made his way to the bar. 

Pickles leaned forward onto the bar on his elbows, waiting for the bartender's attention, but even as he was slurring out his order, a hand wormed its way between layers of denim into his back pocket and cupped his ass with desperate fingers. He was done with Frankie and was about to tell him so when a voice purred into his ear, "Hey, saw your lil show."

A smirk smeared over Pickles' lips as bright as his lipstick. "Kinda hard not to when y'ron stage next'a me, dude."

Tony chuckled. "Nah, man. The one you put on outside."

The bartender came back with Pickles' jack and it was enough to distract him for a second, but Tony's fingers were still on his ass after he'd taken a gulp. Pickles wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Jealous?" Pickles asked honestly. He turned, but Tony had him pressed pretty close to the bar with his size advantage alone. Not that Pickles was complaining too much.

"Nah," Tony decided. "Maybe a little left out." 

"You wanna head home? Could make it up to you, I guess." Though then they'd have to grab their gear and close their tab and shit and that just seemed like a lot of work that Pickles just wasn't about right this second. 

"Bathroom's closer," Tony suggested with a leer. 

Pickles offered a shrug, and without warning he snatched the hat from Tony's head and shoved it down over his own hairspray-tangled hair, face dripping with self-satisfaction. 

"A'right, I'm game."

Tony gave his ass another pat and let Pickles get ahead of him to lead the way through the ocean of pink and animal print and smoke from cigarettes and weed alike, and Pickles grabbed Tony by the wrist to drag him close behind. 

Pickles' zipper was slipping and Tony's hands weren't helping by time they made it into the little spray-painted bathroom stall without a door. Pickles shoved a hand into Tony's pocket just to tease him, but he found a little plastic bag inside and it sparked the memory of the shit they'd done earlier. He realised then that even though this was great, all of this- this bar, this music, this sex, this _life_ \- it was great and all, but they could be doin' ten times greater.

"Let's take another hit first," Pickles suggested, and they did.


End file.
